


The Reformation

by Pureblood_Muggle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Sexual Content, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pureblood_Muggle/pseuds/Pureblood_Muggle
Summary: After the war, changes had to happen in order to rebuild wizarding Britain. Percy found himself reassigned to watching over a convicted criminal: Pansy Parkinson. This is a story of second chances, redemption, and love.Written for the Harry Potter Unhappy-Ever-After Fest 2019.





	The Reformation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of JKRowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this creation.
> 
> Written for the Harry Potter Unhappy-Ever-After Fest 2019. Prompt in End Notes.
> 
> Big love to my beta MaraudingManaged. Couldn't have done it without her!  
More love to the wonderful Frumpologist who made the beautiful cover for this story!!

*** 

The war was over. The fight was won. In the history books, the 2nd of May 1998 would forever be a date magical children would learn as _ The Day War Ended _. As if it was that black and white, that clean-cut. 

Percy Weasley whacked the _ Prophet _back onto his desk with more force than was strictly necessary; on the front page, the austere expression of the new Minister for Magic - Kingsley Shacklebolt - remained unfazed. It had been a time of confusion: celebrations at the final demise of Voldemort were mingled with anger, grief, and the frustration of rebuilding their world. Elation was tainted by the burials of loved ones; friends and families coming to terms with betrayals that cleaved them apart. 

Wizarding Britain certainly didn’t simply flip a switch and return to sunshine and daisies. It had been almost exactly four months; and whilst on the surface places had been rebuilt, beneath that cosmetic repair people found it difficult to return to normal… Whatever normal _ was _ anymore.

Percy sighed heavily as his eyes flicked to his wristwatch. His family would be standing at King’s Cross right now, seeing off his sister, Ginny, for her newly coined ‘8th Year’ at Hogwarts. No doubt Harry would be there, too: he and Ginny had snuck off to say a rather personal good-bye the night before. Percy had quickly wished he hadn’t bid everyone a good night so early, considering his old room was right next to Ginny’s - there were some things he really didn’t need to know about his baby sister. 

He briefly thought that Ron should’ve returned to finish his education, alongside Ginny and his girlfriend, Hermione. As much as Percy had admired his youngest brother’s achievements and efforts through the war - and as much pride as he felt for his being recommended into the Auror programme without his N.E.W.T.s - Percy couldn’t help but feel he was wasting an opportunity to complete his Hogwarts years first.

Taking a sip of his Lapsang Souchong, he savoured the delicate, smoky aroma of his favourite tea and allowed himself to close his eyes for just a moment. He had five minutes left, after all, before his meeting with Minister Shacklebolt regarding the newly reshuffled Ministry structures - _ The Reformation _, it was being called.

There were Death Eaters still at large: most in hiding, but some were crawling out of the woodwork claiming to have been Imperiused - and of course, many of the latter were workers at the Ministry. Those _ esteemed _ \- Percy snorted - Ministry employees were required to undergo a series of interviews, assessments, and ultimately trials. The sheer number of personnel undergoing these reviews prolonged any return to normalcy within the Ministry - the process was still in full swing and out of 50 or so, only 20 were cleared of all charges. Percy himself only just escaped persecution because he’d finally pulled his head out of his arse in the nick of time, and showed up to fight for the Order that day in May. 

There was a long road ahead of them at the Ministry to regain the trust of the population, especially Muggleborns. They’d lost so much in the past year, it had felt overwhelming even to Percy to consider the implications of what they had endured. He felt positively sick when he thought back to how little he did to stop the downward spiral. No matter how often he’d been told that his stubbornness likely saved his life, he couldn’t help but wonder what his continued existence was worth when it was at the expense of several co-workers. 

Of course, with so much uproar within government, the first thing Minister Shacklebolt did was reshuffle his available personnel. Those he felt he could trust - a lot of Order members, Percy noted - found themselves in roles they might not have ever considered, or that hadn’t even existed before. Percy sighed again as he drained the last of his tea. Never in his wildest dreams - and some were much wilder than others might expect from one as studious as he - did Percy consider becoming a Parole Officer for the Ministry. 

_ Alas, _ he thought wryly, _ here I am _. About to begin his new, and hopefully bloody temporary, career in babysitting the criminals implicated and sentenced for their involvement, but not heavily enough to warrant a custodial punishment. It would be an absolute joy, he was certain.

Glancing at his watch a final time, he carefully placed his empty cup on its saucer. Standing, he put his suit jacket on and slipped the button through the hole with a flick of his fingers, and straightened his already neat tie. A quick flick of his eyes to the mirror by the door showed him to be perfectly presentable, and so with purposeful strides, he punctually made his way to the Minister’s personal boardroom.

*** 

Percy watched as Pansy Parkinson scowled and pulled her hood lower over her face. He mused that of all the demeaning things the Ministry could’ve come up with to punish her for ‘attempted treason’, they truly couldn’t have found anything worse: picking up rubbish in Diagon Alley and its side-streets. The bloody Muggle way, without _ any _magic - of all the indignities. There were severe restrictions on her wand usage whilst she was on probation - and of course, while she was working, she had to relinquish her wand to him, her Parole Officer, all together. 

She glanced up at him with a sneer. He stood ramrod-straight, watching her every move with impassive eyes, doing his best not to let her get to him. For two weeks now, it had been the same shitty routine. She would meet him at the Ministry to sign in, they would then Floo to the Alley, and she’d hand over her wand before beginning her appalling joke of a community service order. It’s not that he enjoyed it any more than she did, not that he’d ever be able to tell her that.

Pansy’s nose twitched as if she was about to sneeze, but her hand stalled half-way to her face, an appalled look on her features as she glared at the dragonhide gloves she was wearing for protection against the filth she was picking up. 

Percy observed how vile fellow wizards and witches were: the bins around the Alley were clearly an afterthought for most, their rubbish carelessly thrown vaguely with no real regard as to whether it would hit the intended target. 

His ears picked up her irritated sniff, as another well-dressed witch casually threw a wadded up tissue in her general direction. Pansy stared at the offending litter after it had hit her in the arm and fluttered to the ground without a sound, then glared at the retreating form from under her hood. So intently was she staring after the sloppy witch that she visibly jumped out of her skin when Percy addressed her from only a few feet away.

“Parkinson, at this rate you’ll never finish. It’s Friday. Make an effort, hmm?”

“What’s crawled up your arse, Weasel? Hot date?” She snorted as if the notion that Percy would ever get a date, let alone a hot one. At seeing the look he levelled her with, she grimaced as she bent to pick up the tissue and fling it into the bin bag. As much as she must hate the position she was in, she was powerless to change it unless Percy signed off on her parole upon completion. He knew that, and she knew that. Until then, she would have to do what was asked of her. 

Still, Percy thought with an internal sigh, it didn’t stop her from shooting snide remarks at him. In the fortnight she’d been working, she seemed to have made it her personal mission to derail him. It had started with her obvious horror of finding out it was he who would have power over her future - that had clearly stung, as she had, by all accounts, always been one to think herself superior to _ his _family. So, of course, he’d had to listen to comments on that. 

He hadn’t even blinked.

He was amused to find that she was doing her best to try and make him lose his composure; to find a crack in his strait-laced facade. So far, Pansy had not succeeded beyond a single raised eyebrow directed at her on her first day, when she tried to discombobulate him by leaning over in a way that gave him a good flash of her cleavage. It was a good thing she couldn’t read his mind because inwardly, he’d delighted in the display.

Unfortunately for him, she’d taken to wearing a hooded robe since that day in, what he supposed, was a vain attempt at keeping some of the dignity she had left. After all, the whole wizarding community knew about her disgrace. It had been all over the papers like most of the trials. 

Percy sighed in resignation but didn’t miss the small grin she allowed herself at his response.

***

Over the next month, Percy settled into a routine with his charge. They’d meet at the Ministry to sign her register every weekday at 8am sharp. They would Floo to Diagon and she would begin litter-picking. From midday, she would be given an hour for lunch, then she would continue until 6pm. 

The weather had, in true English style, become wetter and more blustery as the weeks went on. Autumn was in full swing around the country, the leaves on the trees changing colour to bright yellows, oranges, reds, and purples. Percy loved this time of year the most. It reminded him of days spent in his mother’s hand-made woolly jumpers, strolls through fallen foliage, and sitting by the fire with a good book while the world outside slowly became darker and quieter in preparation for winter. 

He liked the calm. While he knew his brothers all revelled in the hustle and bustle of crowds and adrenaline, Percy preferred a good book and some good conversation one-on-one. He craved it, as a matter of fact. Since the Battle of Hogwarts, he’d been busy rebuilding his relationship with his family, helping out his parents with repairs at the Burrow, and donating any spare weekend time to rebuilding the school under Headmistress McGonagall’s direction. 

There had been no time to foster old friendships, to find a connection with anyone; or, Merlin forbid, to date. He was fine with that until recently when he found himself at loose ends in the evenings and at weekends. Hogwarts had reopened on the 1st of September, and the final repairs had been completed two weeks into the autumn term. His parents’ home was better than ever, and even George’s shop was up and running again. Fred would have wanted him to keep spreading cheer, George had insisted, and he had reopened _ Wheezes _only six weeks after Fred’s funeral.

Percy looked up at the rapidly darkening sky and winced as the first cold raindrop hit him right in the eye behind his glasses. He shivered involuntarily and watched as Pansy pulled her collar higher around her face. She had been easier to deal with than he thought she would be, once he decided to ignore her silly jibes. In the month and a half he’d been supervising her he’d seen her turn from petulant and angry to resigned and, if he wasn’t mistaken, slightly depressed. 

There had been days he’d felt pity for her. The first time her parents had passed, for example - they hadn’t so much as acknowledged their daughter. He hadn’t said anything; it wasn’t his job to do so. However, he was observant and the hasty movement of her arm to wipe a tear from her cheek had not escaped him. 

When, three days after that, some people he thought must have been friends or acquaintances of hers taunted her with insults, he stepped in to move them along - much to their amusement.

_ “How the mighty have fallen.” _

_ “Have you been on your knees in his service long, Pansy?” _

She hadn’t replied to any of their taunts, studiously ignoring them instead. Percy, however, had so much practise watching her and he knew she was hurt. The slump in her shoulders, the slight tremble of her hands as she continued to work, and the discrete swipe at yet another tear: none of those escaped his notice. She’d drawn into herself so completely that she’d even stopped purposefully annoying him.

As he stood watching her shiver, he cast a silent water-repelling charm to keep her dry before holding up his wand and muttering an umbrella charm above his own head. He thought back to this morning when she signed the register. 

_ “Good morning, Miss Parkinson,” he’d greeted her. She’d merely nodded at him, holding out her hand for the quill to sign her name. _

_ “Any plans for tonight?” Percy blurted out in an effort to engage the witch into a conversation. She’d startled at his painfully unpolished attempt at small-talk and for a second he found himself staring into mesmerising, wide, deep-blue eyes. He cleared his throat and, with considerable difficulty, pulled his eyes from hers. _

_ “Are you asking me out?” Pansy sneered at him, although her voice lacked the usual derision he was so used to. _

_ “Hardly. However, it is your birthday, is it not? I was merely trying to be polite.” _

_ “Save it for somebody else.” With that, she turned and walked toward the Floo. Percy sighed and followed. _

It occurred to him that in the past six weeks they’d spent together, he hadn’t really spoken to her at all besides what was absolutely necessary to ensure her parole ran smoothly. Even so, he felt as if he, on some level at least, knew the witch. He knew she despised coffee, drank her tea too sweet and with only a drop of milk. She hated cheese sandwiches, preferred her pumpkin juice served ice-cold, and her butterbeer hot. 

From what he’d gathered she had no friends to speak of any longer and spent her time off alone - though he’d never asked to confirm it one way or the other. He hadn’t felt he _ needed _to confirm it. He’d seen her reaction to accidentally running into people she knew, and noticed her longing looks when she didn’t think anyone was paying attention. Percy remembered what it felt like, first hand, being the pariah; estranged from his family and friends.

However, he also knew what it felt like to return, to make amends - to be given that precious second chance to make things right. Percy was aware that he wasn’t anyone’s first thought when it came to companionship. He was also aware that beggars couldn’t be choosers, so he decided to try again.

“Parkinson, it’s six o'clock: time to go home.” He held out her wand and waited for her to remove her black dragonhide gloves before taking it off him. She removed her protective robe and handed both it and the gloves to him. He stuffed it all into the Ministry approved storage bag and shrunk it down to carry it easier. Pansy turned to leave without a word. 

“Parkinson!” His own voice felt alien to him after not having spoken much all day. She paused and turned back to him. “Come with me for a few minutes.”

Without waiting for an answer, he marched past her toward the Leaky Cauldron. He couldn’t make out the muttering from Pansy behind him, but he was well aware that she had followed - not that it wasn’t her way home anyway; she Flooed home from the Leaky every evening, after all.

Once in the shelter of the pub, he turned to find her staring at him expectantly. He removed his wet and rapidly fogging glasses and wiped them clean on the hem of his shirt.

“What is it, Weasley? I’ve served my time for today.”

Percy replaced his spectacles on his nose and let his gaze roam her upturned face, once again taking in her deep-blue eyes, her high cheekbones and her wide, kissable lips. He tore his eyes away and looked over her left shoulder, collecting himself. That wasn’t a thought he’d expected to form.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Join me for a drink,” he blurted out. “Please. My treat.” For a moment, he thought she was going to laugh in his face. Her expressions were changing so quickly he wasn’t sure what to think when silence hung between them instead of an answer. He could feel a blush creep up his neck as she studied him. 

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed, feeling wholly inadequate and finding it difficult to form a more eloquent response. Together, they found a small table toward the back and he ordered two hot butterbeers. When they arrived, they clinked their glass mugs together.

“Happy birthday, Parkinson.” 

*** 

Since her birthday (when they drank one butterbeer each and, aside from a couple of awkward attempts at conversation that were stilted at best, sat in semi-awkward silence), they had established another routine: on Friday nights after Pansy’s shift, they would go to the Leaky and repeat the experience. He would order two hot butterbeers and they would sit, mostly wordlessly, sipping their respective drinks. 

On their third week, Percy found out that she liked to read fiction - she said it allowed her to _ escape _ . When he’d asked what exactly she was escaping from, he received a _ look _and nothing more.

On their fourth week, Pansy broke the silence to ask what precisely the deal was with his tea; because tea was tea, after all. Fifteen minutes later, she was sorry she asked because he had an awful lot to say about Lapsang Souchong. 

By the fifth week, Percy broke the silence again. 

He’d been uncharacteristically fidgety, turning his mug of butterbeer this way and that by the handle. He appeared deep in thought, and as if he attempted to speak several times before finally settling on a blunt statement; spoken too forcefully and too fast, yet at the same time too soft.

“You’ve only got two weeks left.” 

Pansy nodded, raising her eyes to his and letting her eyes linger for a moment before replying. “Yes, thank Merlin!” She averted her gaze and grinned into her drink. “You’ll be rid of me then.”

“Will I be?” He scrutinized her, his eyes flitting over her face, and she raised a brow.

“Are you coming on to me?” There was amusement, and - he thought - curiosity in her words.

Percy’s lips twitched as if he was holding back a grin. He was enjoying the small glint in her eye that he hadn’t seen before - not since that first day, as she lost her spark and dulled before him as each day of her service trudged on. He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he didn’t even have the mind to feel self-conscious about the colour coming to his cheeks.

“No,” he said at length; but for a fraction of a second after he spoke, Pansy’s expression faltered. It was so fast he questioned if he imagined it, as the hurt was quickly masked by haughty amusement.

“Of course you’re not. I’m only pulling your wand,” she smirked at him though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. He wanted that glint, the one he’d only had a small glimpse of, back. 

“I was merely referring to the fact that you will, even after your community service, have to keep signing on daily to make sure you are on the straight and narrow,” he paused to sip his butterbeer and took a moment to study her. She licked a little foam off her lips and he imagined doing it for her. Percy swallowed. “However-” 

“Yes?” Pansy prompted when he didn’t continue after a full minute of silence.

“Never mind.” He took another sip and pushed his glasses back up higher on his nose. She huffed and Percy closed his eyes, inwardly cursing his awkwardness. He could feel his ears heating up. Before his embarrassment robbed his speech completely, he rushed out his thoughts. “Oh, alright, fine. I’m not looking forward to being _ rid of you, _ as you so eloquently put it. I’ll miss your sour pout, the insults you throw my way, and the personal raincloud you seem to bring with you wherever you go.”

Pansy’s eyes grew wider, and then she laughed out loud, startling Percy with the sound. He didn’t think he’d heard her laugh before. Actually laugh, not the fake ones she’d permitted him to hear since they’d met. It elated him and made his lips twitch, and he desperately wanted to cajole it from her again. Eventually, she said, “Sarcasm is an odd look on you.” Yet her tone held no ire, and Percy cheered internally at having put at least a little sparkle back into her eyes. Outwardly, however, he shrugged, hiding his smile behind another sip of butterbeer; unsure how else he should take her comment. 

“You know, you’re not as bad as I thought you were, under that uppity exterior.” She wasn’t looking at him; rather, playing with the mug in front of her, turning it around by the handle. He waited for her to glance up before smiling at her and responding.

“You aren’t either, beneath that cold-hearted shell of yours.” He didn’t miss the faint blush that stained her cheeks at the compliment, and Percy realised it suited her. He was about to make another remark when a shadow fell over them, and they both glanced up.

“Evening, Perce. Parkinson,” Bill greeted both and sat down on the free chair, uninvited. 

“Bill?” Percy looked at him expectantly. He wasn’t sure why his brother bothered to come over now; his family knew he and Pansy went out for a drink on a weekly basis. Most didn’t give an opinion either way, though Percy knew - like he knew his own name - that they all had an opinion; few of them favourable. 

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Bill had come over to be social. He did know better though and was instantly on his guard. His eldest brother was the epitome of cool. Even married and having, for now, moved to a stuffy desk job from gallivanting around the world breaking curses, he simply had a certain quality about him that just screamed cool. Much to Percy’s envy, not that he’d ever admit that out loud.

“Just checking if you’ll be home for my birthday dinner! Mum wants all of us around, and Charlie’ll be home from Romania, too.” Bill casually leaned back and took a long drink out of his beer bottle, eyeing his brother speculatively. His gaze only left Percy long enough to take in Pansy, no doubt trying to figure out why they still went out for drinks - and Percy didn’t for one second believe that this little visit was about Bill’s birthday.

“That’s not until the end of the month - I’m sure it’s a question that could have been asked nearer the time.” _ Nosy git _, Percy thought as he fought back a grimace. “But of course I’ll be there.” He took a sip of his own butterbeer to stop himself from telling Bill soundly to sod off.

Bill leaned forward, his elbows on the scrubbed wooden table, his fingers fiddling with the label on his bottle. A small grin broke out on Bill’s face as he regarded his beer. “Bringing anyone?” 

Percy choked on his butterbeer and coughed, his eyes watering. Bill wasn’t paying him any attention, however; he’d straightened up again in his seat, his eyes firmly glued on Pansy. She raised an eyebrow at his eldest brother and opened her mouth to respond but Percy beat her to it, his voice slightly raspy from coughing.

“I hadn’t considered that yet. I might...” He turned to Pansy and let his mouth act before his brain. “..._ If _ she behaves.” Both sets of eyes were now on him. Pansy’s mouth hung open in the wake of his blunt statement, and Bill roared with laughter. He stood and clapped Percy on the back, tilting his bottle of beer in Pansy’s direction. Percy tried his best to look confident in the wake of something he’d normally not said.

“Parkinson, I’ll give it to you: looks like you’ve discovered a side to our Perce we didn’t know he had.” He winked at her and, still chuckling, meandered away from the table towards a large group who were trying - and failing - to maintain some subtlety in their attempts to find out what exactly Bill had been laughing about.

“My apologies. Bill has always been... forward. He doesn’t know what manners are - too long with the Goblins, I expect.” He slid his glasses up with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes closed for a second. 

“Did you mean it?” Pansy asked, her face angled down towards the table while her eyes glanced up at him.

“Pardon? Of _ course, _ I meant it. Bill is _ far _ too forward for his own good.” He replaced his glasses and let one corner of his mouth tilt up in a smirk. Pansy sniffed and rolled her eyes. 

“Ah… that’s not _ exactly _ what I was referring to.” She leaned forward and gave him a pointed look. “If we’re being blunt for a change, are you actually planning on inviting me and introducing me to your family?” 

Percy sat up straight in surprise and gave her a calculating look. “Would you agree to accompany me?” 

“Are you out of your mind?” Pansy hissed at him. Her voice juxtaposed to the fear he could see in her eyes. “Socialise with your parents? With Saint Potter? Granger!” When he didn’t respond and merely continued looking at her, she swallowed hard. She looked over to where Bill stood with his friends. He noticed her stare and lifted his beer at her in greeting. Pansy quickly averted her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, her breath came a little faster as she added: “You _ are _out of your sodding mind.” 

“But you’re considering it.” It wasn’t a question: to him, it was obvious. Pansy needed, no, she _ craved _ connection with people. He saw it just now, when Bill had come over, when she watched his brother with his friends. He’d seen it when he watched her work. Hell, he was sure that if she didn’t crave company she wouldn’t even consider sitting here with him - beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all. He began to feel like his life revolved around that motto.

Percy refused to believe that it was simply selfish need on her side or pity on his. At the start? He’d felt sorry for her, and little more. Now? Certainly not on his part. He found he genuinely enjoyed their time together, quiet as it might have been, and she had surprised him. She wasn’t the dim-witted bint many pegged her to be, and he felt the swell of remorse in his chest that he had ever thought of Pansy Parkinson that way at all. 

***

In the couple of weeks leading up to Bill’s birthday, their small talk increased and expanded to encompass their lunch breaks as well as their Friday night drink. 

They talked about anything generic they could think of: Music, his work before becoming her parole officer; amusing people they encountered along Diagon. They traded safe stories about their time at Hogwarts such as the disaster that was Gilderoy Lockhart in her second, and his sixth, year.

The Friday before Bill’s party, to be held the following evening, Percy learned that Pansy could both play the piano and ride a horse - because it was expected of her. She could also pour the perfect cup of tea, dance a Viennese waltz and talk gracefully about the weather. A true pureblood puppet, as she called herself; only now she was persona non grata with her family. 

According to them, she’d told him bitterly, she’d brought on the family’s disgrace twice: first, because she openly tried to sacrifice Saint Potter - even though her family would’ve quietly welcomed it. Secondly, and perhaps the most damning for her, because she publicly accused family acquaintances in order to save her own skin during the trials that followed Voldemort’s defeat. 

He told her that while trying to hand over Harry Potter hadn’t been the wisest of things to do, he respected that she made a bargain with the Ministry. In his estimation, her evidence saved more than a few lives and helped bring some dangerous wizards and witches to justice. Not to mention, of course, that she’d completed her parole with the Ministry, and was free to pursue her life again. 

Pansy scoffed and asked him if he really thought the price worth it; because she might have done the right thing, but she’d paid dearly for it. 

After all, she was alone now. 

It was then that Percy reached across the table and took her hand in his, squeezing it. She looked down onto their joined hands and then up at him through her lashes.

“You’re not alone, Pansy.” He watched her swallow as her eyes flitted back to the table. Percy wished she’d look at him, so she could see that he meant every word. His lips pressed together in a tight line before he reiterated his invite. “Come with me to Bill’s party.”

He’d been asking her each time they’d met for drinks, and every time she’d declined. This time, he wasn’t asking, but Percy could still see the negative response forming before she’d opened her mouth. He wished she’d understood that this wasn’t a pitying offer, but that he genuinely enjoyed her company and wanted her there. Percy squeezed her hand again even when she shook her head with a rueful smile, but he cut off her refusal before it could leave her lips.

“Please, Pansy. Come with me. I would be honoured for you to accompany me.” 

“It’s ridiculous! You _ know _ they won’t want me there.” This time she did look up at him and pulled her hand away to throw up in the air.

“Does it matter? _ I _want you there. They’ll get to know you, and will enjoy your company as I do.”

“I don’t think you understand how much some of your family detests me.” She pulled her hands down below the table and clasped them tightly in her lap, her lips pressed together in a firm line. She blinked and averted her gaze, her hair falling in front of her face, hiding her expression. Percy surprised himself by realising that he wanted to hug her; he would have, had there not been a table in between them.

Percy paused, then steepled his fingers as he rested his elbows on the table. “Have I ever told you about the time I truly, _ truly _… fucked up?” 

She gasped at the coarse language coming out of the usually soft-spoken wizard across from her. “No!”

“Yes,” he nodded emphatically. “Naturally, it will come as a surprise to you that I had my head so far up my own arse that I couldn’t see the truth at the time.” He grinned at her, happy to see her return the gesture. “It was just after the Final Task in the Triwizard Tournament.” His face fell at the memory of it, and he stared down at the beer-stained table without really seeing anything. It was the first time he’d voiced any of his feelings regarding his own mistakes, his _ inadequacies, _to anyone outside his immediate family. 

“I was so blind. I’d refuted Harry’s claims of Voldemort’s return, and had an enormous row with my father. The long and short of it is, naturally, that we fell out; for almost three years I had next to no contact with _ any _ of my family. Any contact there was, well… it was hostile, to say the very least.”

It was Pansy this time who reached for his hand. He continued quietly. “When I saw the light I’d feared it was too late, but I had to try. I missed them, meddlesome though they usually are. So I simply showed up the day of the Battle and threw myself into the fray.” He swallowed and inhaled a shaky breath. He knew he had to continue now that he started, but the pain was fresh, even now, months later. Percy clenched his eyes shut and fought to keep his composure. “Fred... he forgave me almost instantly. As if I’d merely forgotten their birthday; as if it was no big deal. I was so relieved, so _ happy _. George, of course, mirrored Fred, and then everyone else followed suit shortly after. Merlin knows why. I didn’t deserve such easy forgiveness but I would lie if I didn’t admit that I had hoped for it. The guilt, it never left. I have never regretted anything more than my time away from my family.”

They were both quiet then. Pansy squeezed his hand while Percy lost himself in thoughts of the battle; of his elation to have been welcomed so easily - too easily; of fighting, and joking, and watching his brother fall in a shower of rubble when the wall beside them exploded. 

Pansy’s thumb gently rubbing over his knuckles slowly brought him back to the present. He felt drained after opening up and unsure how to return to any semblance of conversation. When the silence became too much, Percy made a show to look at his watch and got up. He waited for her to follow suit. Together, they walked to the public fireplace she would use to Floo home. Percy stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “If I deserve another chance, then so do you, Pansy.” 

Despite the knotting in his stomach and the flush travelling up his neck and ears, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll pick you up at 6.”

Not waiting for an answer, he turned and walked out toward Diagon Alley, leaving a visibly stunned Pansy behind.

*** 

They stood outside the Burrow’s wards, holding each other’s hand as if their life depended on it. Percy reflected that in some way, hers probably did. She was nervous about meeting a large crowd, many with whom she had a dodgy past at best. He hoped he could be her anchor for tonight. Somewhere along the line, it had become important to him to see her happy.

Their reception had been muted, though Bill had greeted both of them with a grin. Charlie, who pulled Pansy into a bone-crushing hug, murmured a low few words into her ear to the effect that she must be mad to be here with Percy, which in his estimation meant she would fit right in. Percy, stood close enough to hear his older brother’s quiet words, felt a tentative flutter of hope.

Percy saw her shoulders relax, her breathing less tight after that - the first hurdle... until she came face to face with the _ Golden Trio _ , as they were still dubbed in the _ Prophet _. Percy had, with as much tact as he could manage, told her that all three would be present, even though Hermione was back at Hogwarts - granted clemency at weekends by virtue of being of age and yet still in school. Percy noted with pride that Pansy inhaled deeply and did exactly as he had advised: she extended an olive branch. With her head held up high, she looked at all three, one after the other, settling on Harry’s face when she’d met the stony expressions of Hermione and Ron. 

“Hi, Potter - er, Harry. I was a right bitch to you - and to your friends, but mostly to you. I don’t expect your forgiveness or friendship, but I just wanted to apologise for being so spectacularly vile. So… I’m sorry. To all of you, I’m sorry.” She seemed to trip over her words, and Percy desperately wanted to reach out, to rest a hand on her back, her shoulder - anything that would give her comfort. 

But no. Pansy needed to do this on her own, for her sake. Percy knew she would find no solace in a helping hand. 

“That’s it? You’re _ sorry _?” Pansy visibly flinched at Ron’s incredulous outburst, but Hermione sharply elbowed him in the ribs and held out her hand for Pansy to shake. Percy’s relief was now palpable - he’d always known Hermione to be the sensible type and the most mature of her friends. He’d hoped she would lead them forward. 

“Thank you, Pansy. That couldn’t have been easy. For what it’s worth, I accept your apology.” Pansy’s hand shook as she accepted the gesture, which was followed by another handshake from Harry, and - reluctantly - by Ron. 

After that, the ice was broken, as if his extended family had been waiting for their approval before accepting Pansy in their midst. Even his mother, wary though she often was, offered to plate Pansy up some leftover cake and biscuits to take home. 

“Well, that was quite a night,” Pansy hummed as they walked, arm in arm, to the apparition point a little way down the country lane he’d first walked her up. She was so different now - happy, even. Relaxed. At ease in her own skin, which Percy hadn’t seen since she first began her parole all those weeks ago. She’d allowed him to guide their apparition to the home she had made for herself in a tiny flat above a shop on Camden High Street.

“Thank you for coming this evening,” Percy said when they stopped outside her door.

“Thank you for taking me along. For insisting.” He saw her smile, and a glint in her eye that usually meant trouble - and then he caught his reflection in the glass panes of her front door. His glasses were a slight bit askew, his normally perfectly styled hair a little dishevelled from the party and the apparition. Aghast, he reached up to smooth out the wayward strands, but Pansy reached out to stop him and ran her fingers through his hair, pulling it forward and letting it fall where it would. 

“No - stop. I like you like this. Not so pristine. It… it looks like you had fun.”

And he had - he really had. For once, he didn’t feel so tightly coiled and on guard. It was easy to be around her, easy to pretend expectations didn’t exist. 

“You… you were perfect, Pansy.” She nodded at his words, her gaze falling down to the small space between them. His hand came to below her chin, gently nudging her face upwards. “I would very much like to kiss you - if I may,” he said quietly. 

She didn’t waste any words. Instead, she closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his, and Percy’s world fell away.

***

At first, they tried to take it slow. Goodnight kisses gradually turned into full-on snogging sessions. Talking was entirely overrated when their tongues could be occupied in much more satisfying ways. On their third official date, Percy demonstrated quite thoroughly that he could be the definition of a dark horse and that taking it slow was relative. 

They’d been drinking in the Leaky with Harry, Ron, and some of their Auror colleagues. All evening, they struggled to keep their hands off each other - always touching in small ways. Percy felt excessively smug as Pansy nearly choked when he’d whispered suggestions into her ear of what he’d much rather be doing instead of standing in the crowded pub - all the while paying rapt attention to Harry’s animated account of a Ministry Quidditch League match they’d played the evening before.

By the time they’d made it to his flat, Pansy appeared just as desperate as he was, not wasting any time in pulling clothes off him while he undid her buttons and zips. He almost laughed at her eagerness but it caught in his throat when her hands found their way into his pants. With a growl, he manoeuvred them into his bedroom and onto his bed, pinning her down with his body. 

Pansy’s words came in incoherent stutters, turning to moans as he began kissing her nose, her cheek, her neck, her chest. He insisted on kissing every inch of her body from her head to her toes, without touching any of the spots she clearly wanted him so desperately to pay attention to. 

When his mouth finally found her centre, she fell apart almost instantly. He feasted on her, gentling his touch as she rode out her orgasm on his fingers and tongue. Pansy’s smile was languid and real, her arms coming up around his shoulders when he aligned himself with her and kissed her deeply. Percy, close to losing composure himself already, still paused to ask for permission before entering her in one quick stroke. 

In the afterglow, while they both struggled to regain their breath, he basked in the knowledge that she’d come apart more than once under his touch. 

“I rather enjoy a man with experience,” she muttered sleepily, her leg flung over his as she nestled into his side, and he huffed a quiet laugh as he held her a little tighter.

*** 

By the time Christmas had come around, Pansy was fully welcomed by the Weasley clan, as well as Hermione and Harry. Hermione especially made it a point to extend an apology right back to Pansy for being equally horrible to the Slytherin girl while they were at school. On the couple of occasions she’d found herself alone with Hermione and Ginny, she’s told Percy, she had been amazed at being included not only in conversation but being asked for her opinion as if it truly mattered.

Percy had gleefully executed his right to say, “I told you so.”

He watched, content, as she found out first-hand that blood status really didn’t make an ounce of difference, in the grand scheme of things. Day by day, her whole world turned a slow 180, and Percy relished the privilege to see it happening.

Anyone with only a smidgeon of sense could see that both Pansy and Percy made each other happy. Percy laughed more, and Pansy grew up before their eyes, becoming a little more considerate to those around her, applying herself to finding a purpose again. She had told Percy that she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with her life, but that she understood herself enough now to know what she didn’t want anymore: to be a society wife.

She had even said as much to Molly on Christmas day when the three were quietly sitting by the fire, watching the others mill about in various states of food coma: Arthur was snoring in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace, Ron and Bill were locked in an intense game of Wizard’s Chess, and Charlie had his head together with George, talking excitedly about a product idea. 

Fleur, Hermione, and Ginny had volunteered to do the dishes. Pansy had tried to join them, but Molly had insisted that she’d stay to talk a moment and Percy had firmly pulled her down on his lap where he sat next to his mother. Pansy’s nerves showed in the way she fidgeted with a loose thread on her first-ever knitted Weasley jumper. 

“You are an intelligent young woman, Pansy. I’m sure there must be plenty of opportunities out there for you.” Percy admired his mother’s steadfast belief that Pansy would be well-received by anyone hiring. He knew there would be obstacles in her way, but he wasn’t going to mention them while his own mother did her best to raise his girlfriend’s self-esteem.

“Thank you, Molly. I’ve had an idea but I’m not sure how I’ll make it come to fruition. After all, I’ve not got the best reputation, still, after everything.” Pansy shrugged, obviously not sold on his mother’s sugarcoating of facts.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Mark my words, you’ll succeed if only you put your mind to it.” 

Percy noticed that Pansy had become pensive in the days that followed. He had tried - gently - to pry and find out why she was drawing back into herself; after all, he’d only just begun to see the real Pansy emerge and he was not prepared to lose her. Eventually, she gave in and explained to him about her idea and her reluctance to make it happen due to how she was being received by the public.

New Year’s Eve brought another test of sorts along with it. The Ministry held a gala for their employees, not only to give everyone a celebration to remember but also to raise funds for those who lost their livelihoods in the war. The homes that were destroyed, the family members who were killed, leaving families not only without their loved ones but also without income earners. Children who’d ended up orphaned, and St Mungo’s which was in dire need of funding for the increase in patients now permanently residing in their Janus Thickey Ward. 

Percy had insisted on Pansy to accompany him and she’d reluctantly agreed, only after he’d promised to let her leave the moment her presence caused a problem. 

She’d worn a figure-hugging evening dress in deep sapphire blue, which showed off her dark hair and deep blue eyes perfectly. Percy had shown great self-restraint upon picking her up, in order to not peel the dress off her right that minute. Pansy had looked delighted with his reaction, though, Percy thought, she likely wouldn’t ever realise just how much self-control he had to exert when he caught her checking him out in return.

As it turned out, the evening was a resounding success on all fronts and some of Percy’s worries, not to mention the ones Pansy told him about, were entirely unfounded. Not only did they have a good time, Pansy managed to reconnect with a former fellow Slytherin girl, Tracey Davis. Tracey, they’d learned, had joined the Ministry after the war, and was now working as trainee Obliviator. 

At midnight, they’d all stood, counting down the seconds to the new year and toasted with champagne. Percy wasn’t much of a man for public displays of affection, though that night he threw caution to the wind. He openly kissed her, in front of everyone, his heart beating staccato notes when he pulled her into a tight hug and murmured into her ear. 

“I love you.” 

Percy heard her breath hitch at his low declaration. When he pulled back from the hug, he was blinded by her radiant smile before she launched herself at him, heedless of onlookers, some of whom whistled good-naturedly and others giving disapproving glances.

***

It took another four months of hard work, mostly convincing people that she would not be taking advantage of people she engaged with, for her plan to come to fruition:

An advice bureau for witches and wizards. 

Percy had been her sounding board throughout the entire process: her idea to give advice to other struggling purebloods who had grown up with certain expectations and beliefs, most - if not all - shattered during the war. They were all lost in a rapidly changing society that left many behind. 

When she’d mentioned it to Percy, and then - upon his persistence - to Hermione, he was elated to see he wasn’t the only one who thought she should expand on it. Her new proposal now included witches and wizards from all walks of life, struggling to find a semblance of normal, still, nearly a year on from that battle. 

Percy helped Pansy put together a little gathering for the opening day. His mother happily supplied enough finger food to last the evening - and leftovers the next day - and Percy had insisted on supplying the drinks for the event. He couldn’t have been prouder when Pansy stood before everyone, dressed in a beautiful forest-green, figure-hugging dress, and addressed the crowd.

”Thank you for coming tonight. I’m honestly blown away by all of your support. I couldn’t have done it without help from everyone around me, especially Hermione.” Percy watched as she paused to smile at the witch. “Hermione owled me so often over the past months, we feared we would injure the poor birds.” A tinkle of laughter rippled through the party and Percy couldn’t help but chuckle either, thinking it lucky she hadn’t had to use old Errol. “I’m not naive, I know that without the public support of these wonderful people I wouldn’t be where I am today. So thank you, each and every one of you for coming tonight, for supporting my ideas, for helping me realise this dream to open Wizarding Britain’s first Citizen Advice Bureau.” 

Percy helped out as often as time allowed during her first month of business. He had been in full agreement with her to start small by renting a small office above Madam Malkin’s. At first, the space was used to invite witches and wizards from different social circles to meet and talk - aiming for them to find understanding and similarities between them. 

It wasn’t long before it became a spot for Muggle-born witches and wizards looking for information on wizarding laws and customs they didn’t know about, and wouldn’t have learned about at Hogwarts. Pansy frequently told Percy how amazed she was at how intrigued these people were with pureblood society and he loved her all the more for not only accepting their curiosity but to reflect the same level right back, finding out about those she had grown up to hate.

The pureblood society in question was much more hesitant at mingling with the masses. Percy had sat more than one night, holding an exhausted Pansy, trying his best to encourage her to persist. Together, they came up with the idea to set up closed meetings just for those in the elevated circles, educating them on how the other half - the one without the privileges - lived. Percy knew that it was at times difficult for her to remember she’d been one of those not so long ago, looking down on those without.

Her project was a fluid one, he knew. It required constant adjustment after enquiries from those she wished to help gave her ideas on broadening her services. It wasn’t all that long before Pansy was forced to hire staff, holding workshops for intersocial wizarding liaisons, Muggle liaisons, and even some international liaisons. Percy could have burst with pride and very nearly did the first time someone unrelated greeted both of them in Diagon Alley, without even a hint of a sneer in Pansy’s direction.

It went from strength to strength in such a short time, that the first anniversary of Voldemort’s demise almost came as a shock. Commemorative events were held in London at the Ministry, as well as on the grounds of Hogwarts Castle, each followed by an exclusive dinner and dance for those in attendance.

They attended the gala at the Ministry, and Percy marvelled at his girlfriend when she was left speechless, stumbling over words, at being called upon to receive an award for her unparalleled effort of reuniting Wizarding Britain through educating the public, and indeed embracing and valuing the differences within society. 

Percy expertly turned her on the dancefloor and felt like he was floating on the proverbial cloud nine as he guided her through a waltz once the formal dinner had ended. When the last notes of the dance died on the violin’s strings, he held her in his arms for a moment longer before kissing her below her ear and surprising even himself with an impulsive murmur.

“Marry me.”

***

They set their wedding day to fall on the Autumnal Equinox that year. It had been his idea - a mere thought in passing that he’d voiced as they scribbled on sheets of paper - but Pansy’s face had lit up at the thought, and then there were words like ‘colour scheme’ and ‘ambience’ that made him feel decidedly out of his depth. 

But it made her happy, and that was all that mattered.

“I never thought it would be like this, you know,” Pansy spoke into Percy’s shoulder one night in his flat as they cuddled on his settee. He was glad she spent more time with him than she didn’t - her home was so spartan compared to his own homely space. 

“Like what?” He asked, a flick of his wand summoning his wine glass and hers, which she plucked from the air gracefully. 

“I was always supposed to be a society wife, wasn’t I? Mother and Father would have had me married off to Draco or Theo whether any of us wanted it or not.” 

Percy laughed outright, even when she swatted his thigh playfully. “I’m sorry, love - but I think all that nonsense is firmly behind you. And all the better for it.” 

He turned to her and she smiled softly, her sapphire eyes glittering in the glow of the candles. “Oh, yes. Street cleaning like an urchin has changed me for good.” 

Pansy joked about it, of course, but Percy knew the truth. She’d found purpose, a calling, and along the way - if he were to boast just a little, love. Real friends who would hold her up in her darkest hours, and stand by her during the good and the bad. She’d slowly removed those influences who had made her feel less-than and given Percy’s inclination to let her grow as she pleased, made friends with those she’d been taught to shun. Percy quite liked Tracey, with whom Pansy had become far closer to since new year’s eve, partly due to the fact that now her half-blood status no longer entered into her equation for ‘appropriate connections’.

The only thing Pansy truly struggled with, and which tore Percy’s heart apart when it struck, was that her own family had not forgiven her. They’d completely severed all ties, burned their bridges, and rebuffed each and every attempt she made to reach out. He knew it devastated her, though she often tried to hide it. Yet on more than one occasion, he found himself holding her whilst she fell apart, sobbing herself to sleep as she drowned in regret and self-loathing. 

There was little else he could do, and they both knew it. 

His mother had gone all-out, trying her best to fill the family-shaped hole that Pansy desperately missed. She’d thrown herself full-tilt into organising the wedding: accompanying Pansy to dress fittings, ensuring that the day itself would run as smoothly as possible, and reminding her gently that she was loved and wanted. 

Percy wisely left the women to it, simply promising to be in the right place at the right time. George was to be his best man; partly because Percy had found himself becoming far closer with George since the war, and partly because he felt it wise to keep the prankster near on the most important day of his life thus far.

He did, however, organise their honeymoon himself. Nothing extravagant - just a couple of weeks by the sea in France. Fleur’s parents had kindly agreed to let him borrow their own holiday home near Cannes after Fleur herself assured them that _ this _ Weasley was unlikely to cause any lasting damage. Percy was looking forward to spending those days with Pansy in such a beautiful location but wondered if they’d leave their bed long enough to actually see a few of the sights. 

He grinned to himself when he thought back to their whispered conversation after the last few nights. Relaxed after sex, snuggled up in the dark, they’d talked of their future, their desire for a child or two to run around after.

Maybe they’d be lucky and have one they’d make in France.

***

Percy stood and gazed around the Burrow’s autumnal garden. His mother had worked a miracle again - magic, he thought, was a wonderful thing. 

The trees of the orchard at the end of the garden had begun to change colours, leaves blanketing the lawn beneath them. A dais had been erected before the trees with seats before it, flanking a path that went from the house to where they would stand and commit themselves to each other before their friends and magic itself. The path, instead of gaudy rose petals, was strewn with autumnal leaves of every hue: from yellow to gold, brown to rusty red, glowing orange to deep purple.

The sky was clear overhead; a dry day with sunshine, gifting them a last effort at warmth as rays streamed through the garden. Percy adjusted his auburn-coloured tie, which matched his hair to perfection, for the hundredth time since he arrived at his spot, glancing nervously at the door where Pansy would emerge from. He was looking forward to seeing her again - despite the tradition of the night they’d spent apart, it was a night missed which would have been better spent in her arms.

As guests arrived and took seats, he reflected on the fact that none of Pansy’s family would be here to see them wed. Arthur had offered to give her away, but she’d refused with a determined tilt of her chin. She’d insisted that she would walk out to meet Percy by herself, head held high, flanked only by her maid of honour, Tracey, who would receive her outside to begin their walk up the aisle. 

He was incalculably proud of her, and he loved her all the more for her strength. 

“Perce!” George called out from beside him, looking dapper in his formal clothes. “For Merlin’s sake, your fly is open.”

Percy jumped what seemed like a foot in the air, turning his back on the growing crowd and doing his best to zip his trousers up, his cheeks flaming. When he realised that his fly wasn’t, in fact, undone, he turned to a laughing George, exasperated. 

“What the bloody hell is your problem?” he demanded, flustered and off-kilter in a way he detested - particularly on a day when he needed to look his best for Pansy.

“You were getting too tense, brother dear. Look at you, you’ve relaxed again.” George clapped his hand onto his shoulder and grinned. Percy chuckled, at last, considering that perhaps his younger brother had a point.

As he turned back from the platform where the same Ministry official stood who had married his eldest brother before him, the string quartet struck up. Percy took a deep breath, steadying his suddenly raging nerves as best he could. She’d said yes she wanted this as much as he did.

This was it: the beginning of the rest of their lives together.

The music played quietly in the background as everyone took their place and waited for Pansy to emerge from the house. Time ticked by, and Percy found himself checking his wristwatch more than once as a bead of sweat danced on his forehead. 

“Pansy’s very late,” George murmured, humour lacing his tone. “Sure she’s not come to her senses and ditching you for a younger, more fashionable model?”

“Of course not,” he sniffed in reply. Pansy wouldn’t do that - would she? “She’s just being late to build suspense, as brides are wont to do.”

“Well, yeah, she is a bit dramatic,” George reasoned, his smirk never faltering.

When the band played the final chords of their first song, his mother flicked her wrist and urged them to continue. Amongst low murmurs in the crowd, Tracey nodded to the Weasley matriarch and made her way into the Burrow to check what was holding Pansy up.

No-one looked particularly worried. If anything, there were faint smiles, light laughs. Because Pansy Parkinson had always been rather over-dramatic.

Percy would never forget the scream that followed. It pierced the air and shredded his insides like a myriad of little scythes slicing through a field of corn. Fear gripped him as his stomach contracted at the echo of screams long ago, memories pulled from depths he’d long since consigned them to, of burning flesh, falling rubble, _ Cruciatus Curses _ being directed at fighters near him, at him, making his skin burn and sting and tighten. 

This penetrating, ear-splitting scream, so out of place in this peaceful setting, would haunt him in nightmares for the rest of his life. 

He shook his head to fend off the memories, willing his feet to work and he moved as if through fog, leaving George’s side and racing along the leaf-strewn aisle into the house.

“Pansy!” he yelled, his panic increasing with every step. “Pansy!”

The sight that greeted him left him reeling, unable to comprehend anything but chaos before him as his ears began to ring and his blood drained from his face, his hands. A leaden weight fell heavy in his stomach and threatened to drag him down. 

Tracey was kneeling on the ground with her wand out, shooting unfamiliar spells into the air as she felt Pansy’s neck with trembling fingers. He collapsed by her side, calling Pansy’s name again, shaking her shoulders desperately. 

She didn’t react, didn’t reply; her deep blue eyes vacant and dull as they stared into the nothing above her. The ringing in his ears grew to a shrill scream, the roar of his pulse drowning out any other noise around him - he couldn’t even hear his own voice as he begged and pleaded and wept. 

There was commotion all around him; people prying him away from her, his mother’s arms forcing him back to the sidelines as emergency Healers descended upon her prone form to confirm what he wouldn’t - _ couldn’t _ \- take in. 

Pansy Parkinson was dead. 

***

The rain broke just as the last stragglers left the funeral.

Percy stayed behind, silent. He hadn’t really spoken at all since the day she left him. Autumn had always been his favourite time of year: the calm, the quiet, and the peaceful changing of the seasons. As he lifted his face to welcome the rain mingling with his tears, he released every pent up emotion - the anger, the hatred, the unending grief. He wept until he was spent, exhausted, empty. He fell to his knees in the mud, freshly turned as it covered her grave, and placed his trembling right hand on the headstone. 

It was unfair, how such a vivacious woman could be snuffed out by something as simple as a misstep on the stairs. She’d fallen and broken her neck, dying instantly. 

She wouldn’t have even felt it. 

That was exactly what the Healers had told him - eventually, anyway. He had to fight for the information because he wasn’t _kin_. He wasn’t her husband. It hadn’t mattered that it had been their wedding day; that a ministry official had been_ right_ _there_. 

It hadn’t mattered at all - because she wasn’t his wife. 

His head bowed deeper, forehead pressing against the cold stone. She never would be. 

_ Pansy Violet Parkinson _

_ 15th November 1979 - 23rd September 1999 _ _  
_ _ Always loved. Never forgotten. _

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> My prompt was:  
Any pairing - friends to lovers to freak accident that costs one of them their life.


End file.
